Nine Months
by anondracomalfoy
Summary: Hermione Granger has always been a very punctual sort of being-she never misses anything and she's never late. Until one day...she is. But not in the way her husband suspects.


_**Nine Months**_

Hermione Malfoy was a very punctual sort of being-something that her husband of two years both admired and abhorred. This sense of punctuality extended into every facet of her life; from how long it took her to prepare for work in the mornings to how long her commute from the Ministry was in the evenings. She liked to create maps and calendars that pinpointed exact times, locations, and tasks. She called herself rational and well-organized; he called her a bit of a nutter (under his breath and behind closed doors, of course). Draco didn't try too hard to add a bit of spontaneity into their relationship; he knew she wasn't the fondest of surprises, anyway. _Especially _if she was aware that one was being planned behind her back. So when Hermione approached Draco in his study one chilly winter evening with an unreadable expression painted across her fair face before whispering "I'm late," Draco folded up his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and eyed her skeptically.

"Late for what?" He asked, rather dumbfounded. "Didn't you write everything down for this month on the calendar?"

The youngest Malfoy struggled to think of what she could have possibly been late for-Dinner with the Potters? A late night conference Floo call with work? Draco ran his tongue across the inside of his mouth, but nothing seemed to surface to mind. Surely anything she'd been late for couldn't be _that _important.

"Not _that _kind of late, Draco," Hermione responded, clearly exasperated. He watched her run a hand through her unruly mass of curls, noticing the way her fingers trembled. And still, Draco was bemused.

"What other kind of late is-" He began, but she cut him off with a loud sigh.

"I'm late, Draco, as in..." She began, shifting uncomfortably. "I've missed my period."

The copy of the newspaper he'd been engrossed in moments before fell to the ground, completely forgotten.

"That's...normal, isn't it?" He probed, eyeing her carefully. She gave a slight shrug; one that didn't speak much in his favor.

"Sometimes, yes," She replied evasively.

"Is it normal for _you_?" He demanded.

"...Well, no, it's not," She managed. "Mine always starts on the same day. It's a week late."

Damn her punctuality.

* * *

"What do you _mean _the Healer said you're four weeks pregnant?" Draco sputtered over coffee one morning. Hermione gave him a tentative sort of smile, cupping her hands around the warm mug seated in front of her and staring into her husband's bright grey eyes.

"When you were sitting in the waiting room and I went back there, she said I'm roughly four weeks along," She began, her voice rather hoarse. "It's not uncommon, Draco-women generally find out they're pregnant within the first month or two."

Draco's nose scrunched up at that-the fact that there had been a...a _being _growing inside of her for damn near four weeks without her knowing it both perplexed and concerned him. If biology wasn't an issue, he'd fear that _he_ would wake up one day and find his stomach swollen and a fetus kicking around inside of _him_. Not that her stomach was swollen yet...or had experienced any kicking-like symptoms. But still. He patted his abdomen protectively, grateful that biology was on his side.

"So let me get this straight," Draco began, his eyebrows furrowing together as he appraised his wife across the kitchen table. "You...are having a baby? A real, live kid?"

"Yes, Draco, I am."

"And I'm the father?"

He got a swat across the shoulder for that one. Much deserved, of course.

"Right, of course I'm the father," He trailed off, glancing down at his untouched mug of freshly-brewed coffee. Suddenly the aroma almost too strong to bear, and Draco coughed once before sliding the ceramic mug away from him. He rested his elbows on the table, sighing and raking his hands through his hair. This was so much to take in at once; almost _too_ much. His lower lip jutted out into a slight pout and he grunted, struggling to process the onslaught of information his wife had provided him with.

"Draco..." Hermione trailed off, and he could instantly detect the worry in her voice. He looked up, blinking twice and glancing at her in a daze. "Do you not...do you not _want _a baby?"

Well shit.

"I do-_I do,_" He assured her, licking his lips and shifting in his seat uncertainly. He was terrible when it came to wording; phrasing things properly had never been his strong suit (and had gotten him in far more trouble than he liked to admit). He knew his wife understood this, but still...he wanted to make his sentiments known. And accurately, at that. "It's just that...it's a bit of a shock, Granger, you know? I don't even know _how_ to be a father."

"Nobody thinks they _know_, Draco," Hermione insisted softly. He was staring down determinedly at the table before him, his brows crinkled together in a fit of concentration. The sound of the chair scraping against the wooden floor filled the room, and within a second Granger had worked her way across the table and into his lap. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around his wife's small waist, forcing himself to gaze up at her. It was easy for her to say, of course-with her worrisome nature and strict demeanor, she'd be a natural mother. Him, on the other hand...well, emotions and affection didn't come to Draco all that easily. And he didn't want to be like his father; didn't want to be the sort of man and paternal figure that Lucius had turned into. It wasn't that his father was necessarily a bad person or anything (though many would disagree), it was just that...his parenting skills had always been a bit _lacking_. He'd been too cool-too forceful and difficult to impress.

Draco didn't want that for his own child.

"When the time comes, you'll be ready," She reassured him, lifting her arms to rest on his shoulders. He just nodded in response, his lips pressed tightly together.

He hoped she was right.

* * *

During her second month of pregnancy, Granger purchased nearly every Wizarding and Muggle baby pamphlet, text, and series known to man. Sometimes she'd sit herself down at the kitchen table and peruse through the information laid out before her. There was an endless supply of reading material on pregnancy and infants available; Draco felt as though he was drowning in babies. Perhaps this was what the Weasleys always felt like, but he couldn't be sure.

"You're having one kid, not eight," He commented one afternoon, biting down on an apple he'd located in the kitchen. Hermione didn't even bother to glare at him over the top of the current tome she was indulged in-_Getting to Know Your Baby's Devleopment_-merely stuffed her nose further into the book and grumbled to herself.

"Come on, Granger, really," He tried again, sitting down across from her. He glanced at the high stack of books laid out before her, taking another bite out of his apple and chewing carefully. "Don't you think you're being a bit excessive? I mean, some of these don't even make _sense_ to own."

"Yes, they do!" Hermione defended primly, slamming her book down on the table.

Draco picked up a paperback book with a colorful cover that read _Optimistic Parenting: Giving Proper Nurture to Your Half-Breed Child_.

"Unless you fucked a Centaur or something, I fail to see how this book is at all pertinent to your pregnancy."

The tips of Hermione's ears grew red and she quickly snatched the book from his hands, scowling when he laughed at her.

"We have to be prepared, Draco! For anything!" She snapped, burying the book underneath the numerous others that were scattered across the table.

"I suppose if you were married to Hagrid, yes," Draco drawled, quirking one eyebrow in her direction.

"You're incorrigible, Draco," Hermione shot back, her face flushing with color.

"I'll remember that when I'm taking your part-House Elf bastard child to Quidditch practice in a few years."

He got swatted with a book for that one.

* * *

"For Merlin's sake, Draco, you're being absolutely ridiculous!" Hermione cried out one evening, exacerbated by her husband's behavior. She was well into her third month of pregnancy by now, and while there hadn't been very many noticeable changes in her appearance, Draco had started to discern a small pouch of skin that would jut out of her lower abdomen. She almost looked like she was bloated and had eaten a bit too much, though he'd be damned if he was going to mention it to her. They were having yet another row (the third one this week), and while Hermione was irritated, Draco was stubborn. She was sitting on their bed, clad in nothing more than a worn-out t-shirt and her knickers, and she was giving Draco _the look_. _The look_ was a famous tactic first executed by Hermione when they'd been dating for around four to five months. It was in the way her lips would press into a thin line and her eyes would bore into him with as much silent anger and resentment as she could manage. It spoke wonders; it told him that he needed to shut the fuck up before she smacked him across the back of the head. Weaselbee privately referred to it as Granger's crazy eyes.

Silently, Draco agreed.

"We can't-_have sex_, Granger, we just can't!" Draco snapped back, throwing his arms out at his sides.

"And why _not_, Malfoy? You keep saying that but you have yet to give me any sort of clue as to why. The Healer, mind you, _recommended_ it; she stated it was _healthy_ to keep a relatively active sex life while I can."

She meant business, then-she only ever called him by his surname (her surname too, come to think of it) whenever she was pissed as hell.

"Because..." Draco stuttered, trailing off. His gaze wandered down to her abdomen, and he huffed in irritation. "_What if I touch it_?"

Confusion clouded Hermione's features.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"The baby, Granger!" He cried out, exasperated. "It's _weird_! What if my...I don't know, what if my _dick_ touches the kid?!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Draco," Hermione huffed, her eyebrows knitting together. Draco's eyes narrowed into slits, his lips pressed into a thin line as he appraised her.

"Excuse _you_."

"I'm only saying...that's _absurd_," She managed finally, rolling her eyes. "You can't _touch_ the baby-not like that, for Godric's sake!"

Draco huffed and pouted for around ten more minutes, clearly not satisfied with her answer.

They ended up having sex that night anyway.

* * *

By the time Granger had reached her fourth month, her baby bump was growing to be a bit more conspicuous. The more tight-fitting dresses she'd been used to wearing to Ministry events and meetings felt uncomfortable stretched around her protruding stomach, and she was beginning to complain that her trousers were uncomfortable. Draco said nothing, of course-he might have been a prat who did all the wrong things at all the wrong times, but he wasn't stupid enough to comment on the slight alteration in her physical appearance. Not when she was so damn _testy_ all the time.

She told him that she was in her second trimester, a term that Draco didn't understand in the slightest. Trips to the Healers had grown more frequent only because Granger was in a constant state of worry that something was wrong with their baby (she had been assured that thus far, she and the baby were both perfectly healthy). It was during one ultrasound meeting that Healer Bones informed them of their baby's process.

"Your baby is starting to develop in certain areas," She began, brushing a strand of red hair out of her eyes. "Crucial things such as eyelids, eyebrows, hair, fingernails-"

She was cut off by the sound of Draco choking on his own saliva.

"Fingernails? Our kid has _fingernails_?" He sputtered out incredulously. Susan Bones looked uncertain all of a sudden.

"Well...yes," She ventured, her lips pursed. "It's perfectly normal and healthy for babies to start to develop these during the second trimester."

"Do you hear that, Granger? _Fingernails_!" Draco continued, still reeling from this bit of news. "Don't they claw you on the way out or something?"

The room grew silent. His wife huffed.

"This isn't a _horror film_, Draco," Hermione snapped, cradling one hand over her stomach protectively. Draco grew silent, quietly musing over his baby's sudden development of fingernails. _Fingernails_ of all bloody things!

"Yes, well..." Susan began again, clearing her throat. She glanced down at her chart in hand, biting on her bottom lip. "So long as we're discussing the baby's development...I find it worth mentioning that we've figured out the sex. Are you two interested in knowing now, or would you like for it to be a surprise?"

Both Draco and Hermione glanced at each other, sharing a silent conversation with just their eyes. They'd grown rather skilled at it, actually.

Hermione's answer relieved him in ways he couldn't begin to express.

"We'll wait."

* * *

She complained about aches and pains a lot these days. She was nearly always tired, grumpy, or hungry. When the three were combined (as they usually were), it was like a bloody tornado of emotions. If he thought dealing with Granger on a normal day was too much to handle, then pregnant Granger's difficulty was amplified by at least tenfold. On her worst days, Draco could tell she'd be a grouch from the moment she woke up-her face would scrunch up and she'd give him this sour look before waddling off to the bathroom to piss for what would end up being the first of eighteen times that day. Her baby bump was round and smooth during the fifth month-significantly more noticeable than it had been just four weeks ago, and while he wanted to point it out and comment on how much the baby had grown, he wasn't stupid enough to do so. He knew how _that_ conversation would end-with her hitting him across the back of the head with the nearest pillow she could find before huffing and determinedly ignoring him for the rest of the afternoon.

She had her good days, of course, but the pregnancy was really beginning to take its toll on her. Draco would sometimes tick the months off on both hands, figuring out how many approximate weeks he had left until the baby would be born. It wasn't that he thought his wife was too much to _handle_ or anything, it was just that...she shrieked at him a hell of a lot more often these days. Sometimes she'd start crying, other times she'd start snipping and berating him for fuck knew what. She was just...all over the place. That was the best way he could phrase it-_all over the bloody place_.

One day, Draco had made the mistake of grabbing one of her pudding cups from the fridge. She had specifically asked him not to touch them (they were her favorite pregnancy snack, after all), but Draco simply couldn't resist. He loved chocolate pudding, so he snatched the last plastic cup from the fridge and broke the seal, reaching for a spoon and taking a bite of the sweet dessert. It wasn't until an hour later or so later when he sauntered into the kitchen and found his wife awkwardly bent over the fridge and shoving everything inside around with quite a bit of determination that he realized he'd made an error.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, humored by her concentration. Hermione managed to somehow shift into a standing position, turning around and looking at Draco with a flushed face.

"Draco, have you seen my pudding?" She asked, blowing a strand of curly hair out of her eyes. "I know I had one last cup left in the fridge, but I can't seem to find it."

"Oh. Yes." He replied, clearing his throat. "I ate it."

"You _ate it_?" She quipped back, resting one hand against her stomach.

"Well...yes."

"Draco, I've _asked_ you not to eat my pudding cups," She chided, her eyes narrowing accusatorily towards him. "It's one of the only things the baby likes to eat these days! Now what am I supposed to do for a snack, _Draco_?"

"We have macaroni and-"

"Obviously macaroni and pudding are not the same-" She began, stopping abruptly and inhaling sharply. Both of her hands flew to her stomach, and her mouth opened into a small 'o'. Instantly, the pudding was forgotten and Draco was concerned.

"What is it, Granger?" He asked, taking a step towards her. When she didn't answer, he grew desperate. "Hermione, what's wrong? Is it the baby?"

_Stupid question, Draco, of course it was the bloody baby._

"It's...come here, Draco," She breathed, extending a hand and gesturing for him to join her. Hesitantly, he did. She took his hand and pressed it against the swell of her stomach, meeting him with glossy eyes and a watery smile. Draco's eyebrows furrowed together and his lips tugged into a pout; what was he supposed to be doing? Just as he was prepared to ask, he felt something shift inside of her. His eyes grew wide and he glanced down at her stomach, in awe of the sudden movement.

"What...?"

"It's the baby, Draco," She said finally, her voice thick. "The baby's kicking."

The world seemed to stop around him, and after a moment Draco slid to his knees, fisting his fingers in the soft material of her shirt. His fingers dusted across the swell of her protruding stomach, entranced by the sensation of their baby kicking against its (his? her?) mother. He leaned forward, pressing his face against Hermione's abdomen and whispered the only thing he could think of.

"Sorry I ate your pudding."

* * *

"Draco, have you noticed that my breasts look bigger?"

He had, of course, but like all changes with her body the past six months, had chosen not to comment on it. They were in the baby's nursery, busy painting the walls a soothing shade of yellow (Draco thought it looked too cheerful; Hermione thought Draco was a pessimist), and Draco was using his wand to charm his paintbrush into applying the right amount of coating to the walls. He turned to face her, uncertain of how to answer her question-Was he supposed to deny it? Agree? Grunt and shrug his shoulders like a Weasley? As he finished coloring one of the walls, he gripped the handle of his wand in one hand and glanced at her with quite a bit of skepticism in his bright grey eyes.

"...I suppose, though I haven't given it much notice," He answered finally, hoping that his evaise reply would be enough. Knowing Hermione, however, it wouldn't.

"I can't tell if I like it or not," She huffed, ignoring his reply. She lifted both hands to cup her breasts, frowning as she appeared to be weighing them in both of her dainty hands. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye, oddly mesmerized by her fixation on them.

"Do you really think you should be feeling yourself up in the baby's nursery?" He teased, and her hands dropped immediately. As she sighed and shook her head at him, Draco wondered if her breasts would ever go back to the size they'd been before. He didn't know much about the female anatomy when it came to pregnancy (though Merlin knew Granger had bought enough books on the subject for him to educate himself on), and he mused over whether or not they would simply deflate after the baby was born and was breastfeeding regularly.

"Draco?" She asked suddenly, her voice much quieter. She was inspecting a can of yellow paint, using one finger to try and scrape off a bit of the dried pigment off her nose. He hummed to indicate he was listening, and he could hear her breathing heavily as she struggled to form together a coherent sentence.

"Do you still...I mean, do you still find me attractive?"

Draco lowered his wand slowly, directing his full attention towards his wife. Despite all of the mood swings and troubles that had come along with being pregnant, she had _never_ questioned whether or not he was still _attracted_ to her. Realizing that there was a time for jesting and a time for being serious, Draco made a move to comfort her. Setting his wand down on top of the dresser they'd picked out, he made his way over to his wife. Awkwardly wrapping his arms around her swollen frame, Draco bent down and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"Always."

* * *

During the seventh month of her pregnancy, Hermione began to stress out over names worthy of their unborn child more than anything else. Her stomach had grown to be quite large by now, and Draco sometimes wondered to himself how the hell she was supposed to squeeze something so fucking big out of a hole so bloody tight.

He tried not to fixate on it too heavily.

Among all the different books and guides she'd bought on pregnancy and raising a child were a few different ones solely dedicated to names. Popular Muggle names, popular Wizarding World names, uncommon names, traditional names, symbolic names. The lists stretched on and on, and every time Granger would drag out one of those heavy tomes and insist they flip through it, Draco got a searing migraine. He was still terrified about being a father, and it felt like the real terror of the job that awaited him was growing to be more and more real with each passing second. The past twenty-odd weeks or so had felt like a bit of a game...but as she was beginning to near the end of her pregnancy, Draco was struck with the realization of what would await him at the end of the tunnel: an infant. A breathing baby that was his to hold, cherish, and raise.

And fuck, was he petrified about it.

"_Draco_," Hermione repeated, glaring at her husband without any real heat.

"Sorry, what?"

"I _said_...what do you think about the name Hugo for a boy?"

"I think that if you were giving birth to Hagrid's child, it would be fitting."

"_Draco_!"

"You asked for my opinion!"

"I _asked_ for you to take things seriously," Hermione replied, clearly agitated with her husband's lack of tact. "I might add that it's a lot better than the name _Scorpius_-If it's a boy, I'm not naming our child something that sounds like _scorpion_."

"Scorpius is the name of a constellation," Draco bit back, rolling his eyes and snatching the book away from her. "Hugo is a poor person's name."

"_A poor person's name_? What is that even supposed to _mean_, Draco? How can you look at someone and decide if their name is _poor_?"

"It's just a _thing_-some names are intended for poor people. Take the name Ron, for instance," He continued, snickering.

She snatched the book from his hand and smacked his arm with it, huffing and puffing the entire time.

* * *

She slept a lot during the eighth month. Most food made her sick, most tasks were impossible to do, and most things irritated the hell out of her. Draco could tell that she was tired-tired of having such a big weight to carry, tired of all of the side effects that came with pregnancy, and tired of being impatient as hell. He knew she was excited for the baby to come along (for multiple reasons, really), and the comments about how she looked as though she was "getting ready to pop" certainly weren't helping matters. Despite her protest to forgo a baby shower, the Weaslette had taken it upon herself to throw a celebratory party at the last minute. Soon, their house was flooded with guests Draco couldn't be arsed to associate with-all eighteen thousand Weasleys showed up along with some of her friends from work and some former classmates.

Draco had been under the impression that baby showers were meant to be attended by females strictly, yet everyone Granger had ever bloody associated with showed up to the event. He stayed by her side the entire time, forcing a crooked smile that felt unnatural every time she glared at him and hissed for him to be polite. Really, he didn't feel like entertaining-Lovegood had tried to tell him that he had an infestation of Nargles and one of the Weasleys had asked him if he was still hiding House Elves in his cupboard. All-in-all, it was a tiring afternoon that he would have rather spent at home alone with his wife.

The Weasleys presented Granger with clothes for the baby-handmade, of course, given that their annual sum of money was barely enough to feed their army of genetic mutants. Lavender Brown gifted Hermione with a scrapbook she could post pictures of the baby in, to which Draco muttered "blank books are probably the only ones she understands" under his breath. Lovegood gave them some sort of strange contraption known as a Nargle catcher-it was supposed to keep the Nargles away when the baby was sleeping. Draco made a mental note to toss it in the rubbish bin the first chance he got. Neville Longbottom gave Hermione a charmed rose that would never wither, to which Draco said-"Thanks, Schlongbottom, but I doubt the baby's going to give a shit about a bleeding plant." Longbottom's ears had grown quite red after that, and Hannah Abbott had escorted him away. Potter and the Weaslette gave them both toys for the baby (cheap, plastic things that Draco didn't approve of in the slightest). Dean Thomas gave them a painting he'd made, and Draco sourly thanked him with "yes, the fetus growing in my wife has grown to rather appreciate the fine arts in life already."

He knew he was being rude, but he hardly cared. He knew none of his wife's friends took him very seriously these days. It was rather like a game at this point, really. He got scolded for his snide behavior later that evening, but merely shrugged and continued to help Hermione put away all the gifts they'd received.

"I just wish you could learn to get along with others, Draco," She protested later on, folding up the last of the clothes they'd been presented with and stuffing them in the baby's dresser.

"I don't need to worry about getting along with anyone else," He insisted.

"And why is that?"

"Because everything I need is right here in this room."

* * *

The ninth month of pregnancy was spent with Draco on his bloody toes at a near constant rate. His worries about becoming a father had been shoved aside in favor of fretting that any moment he'd glance over and find a baby popping out of his wife. She assured him that she would know the minute she was going into labor, and despite the fact that this was meant to comfort Draco, it did nothing but set him on edge. He feared that if he fell asleep he'd wake up the next morning to Hermione screaming in pain; he hated the thought of leaving her when he went to work or out to run errands, and his paranoia was finally amplified so strongly that he took leave from work in order to stay home with her. She insisted that he was being ridiculous and over-protective, but Draco hardly cared. His main concern was his wife; his wife and the baby growing inside of her. He wanted to be prepared for anything and everything-a characteristic trait he'd adopted from her over the course of their relationship.

It happened one night when they were seated by the fire-Granger was attempting to knit a hat for the baby and Draco was going through some owls he'd received earlier that afternoon from work. Hermione was waddling over to pick up her basket of yarn when suddenly, she gasped. Draco glanced up, hearing the pitter patter of some sort of liquid hitting the wooden floor. The letter he'd been clutching in his hand fluttered to the ground, and he gazed at his wife in both bemusement and wonder.

"Hermione, you're..._leaking_. Is that-do you-is that normal?"

"Draco," She began, her voice slightly urgent. "Draco, my water broke."

"So that means...?"

"Yes," She breathed, turning to face him with wide eyes. "The baby's coming."

In his haste to run through the house and gather everything she'd had packed for weeks, Draco forgot something very important by the time he finally Floo'd himself to St. Mungo's.

His wife.

* * *

Draco made the mistake of looking between his wife's legs when the Healer beckoned him over. She was screaming and squeezing his hand so bloody hard he swore it was broken, and when the young blond finally garnered the strength to take a look at his child's birth up close and personal, he was certain he was going to be sick.

He was also determined never to have sex again.

He took Hermione's blood curdling screams as a wordless agreement.

* * *

"It's a boy!" The Healer exclaimed over the shrieks of his newborn baby. Draco thought the kid looked more like a bloody alien at this stage, personally.

"You hear that, Hermione? A boy." Draco stated proudly, squeezing her hand once as she struggled to regain control of her breathing. "Just like his father-giving you a hard time right from the start."

He patted her hand, jesting to cover up how bloody nervous and excited he was. Hermione didn't rise to the bait as he'd expected her to, shifting slightly on the bed instead and patting for him to join her as the Healers cleaned their baby. Draco joined his wife in bed, and by the time their baby was finally delivered to them, Draco swore he was the most beautiful creature in the entire world. All thoughts of teasing his wife fled from his mind, and instead the newfound father became entranced by the small baby bundled up in swaddles of cloth and cradled in Hermione's arms. He had bright blond hair, and Draco reached over with a finger to brush his hand against the soft curls. Hermione murmured for her to greet their child, and so Draco did-he bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to the baby's forehead, unable to stop himself from grinning ear-to-ear. Draco might have been the biggest prat this side of England, and he might have been a sour and sulking sort of individual, but the sight of his baby...Merlin, it was enough to cause his heart to stutter in his chest.

Never in his life had he seen anything more beautiful. He was certain of it, even if he couldn't express it.

"He's perfect, Draco," Hermione breathed, resting tiredly against her husband.

"He is," was Draco's reply. His throat was nearly swollen shut and it had grown rather difficult for him to talk, but he knew Hermione would understand that. Together, they were the perfect sort of family—he could envision the three of them building a life together; growing up and growing old. He could picture the baby growing into a little boy—receiving an acceptance letter from Hogwarts and boarding the Hogwarts Express in a decade or so. He imagined up the perfect life for his son and wife, and it was only when he heard someone else announce their presence that he even bothered to acknowledge that anyone else existed in the world. He blinked, unfeeling, up at the Healer who had dared to disturb the Malfoy family's moment of peace.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" Healer Bones asked expectantly, quill in hand. Hermione glanced at her husband, nodding once before licking her lips and speaking up.

"His name is Gabriel," She answered softly. "Gabriel Abraxas Malfoy."

Gabriel. Their little angel.

* * *

**a/N:** Hello everyone! So, this is a one shot I had to completely write from my e-mail account (oops). My laptop's in the shop for repairs, but hopefully I'll have it back soon! This is a late birthday one shot for my friend Shannon on tumblr. Happy late birthday, Shannon!


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